Back to Himself
by Butterflygirl113
Summary: Lister asks Rimmer to change back after the emohawk turned him into Ace. For some reason, Rimmer complies. Neither is quite sure why.
1. Chapter 1

In the end, it was Lister who brought him back to himself. Wasn't it always? At first, he'd wondered if it was because the other man couldn't stand not being the center of attention anymore. After all, that's how he would have acted. But David Lister was nothing like Arnold Rimmer, a fact of which he was constantly (acutely) made aware. Even Lister, however, couldn't live up to the allure that Ace Rimmer carried with him naturally—producing it like some sort of entrancing, toxic fog as easily as Lister transformed curries into tear gas.

It was no secret that "Ace" was the most popular member of the crew. He was charming, brave, selfless, and brilliant with repairs. That was why they had let him stay that way for longer than the twenty-four hours he had originally requested, after all. Cat loved him because Ace knew just how to flatter his ego. Kryten adored him, trailing after him like a simpering, lovesick puppy, because he built up the value of the mechanoid's duties and even helped with them on occasion. Even Lister had liked him better, for a time.

Something twinged—unsettled and hesitant—in Rimmer's gut as he remembered nights spent in joyful camaraderie, the pair sharing a couple of drinks as Ace regaled the other man with stories. Rimmer didn't know who the man telling those stories was. Somehow, from him, those tales of awkwardness and misery took on a new, spectacular, funny form. He could still remember Lister's face from those nights: that rapt expression of wonder and respect twisted something inside him uncomfortably, while the image of the man throwing his head back in hysterics—undiluted joy radiating from his every pore—filled him with a curious warmth. He had enjoyed those nights. He had thought Lister did too. So why had he come to him weeks later, serious and nervous, wringing his hands awkwardly, to ask him to change back?

Rimmer stared down at the table, glaring at his hands. He rotated them slowly, mapping every line, wondering how the same body could contain such drastically different people. He placed them back down.

Why had Lister wanted _this_ version?

He glanced around the bunkroom, staring at Spartan grey walls with the few mementos of his lackluster existence. His revision timetable, dictator biographies, a "No Smoking" sign, and "Astronavigation for Dummies" spoke volumes about his neuroticism, inflated ego, and eternal failure to become someone worthwhile. Sparse detritus of a mediocre life, dull and inconsequential—just like him. But before, mere days ago, he had been so much more. He sparkled with life and wit, oozed charm that drew others to him like flies, and felt filled with a confidence and contentment that he had never known. When he was being honest with himself (and he rarely ever was), that version of him had been exactly the sort of person he'd always fantasized about being in his daydreams: effortlessly cool and desirable, capable and wanted. Not the invisible refuse that was Arnold Rimmer.

His eyebrows drew together in confusion, lips puckered in thought. The others had liked him better that way; he knew it. He had been right all those nights spent wishing to be someone else: this brave, heroic adventurer. It had been everything he'd imagined.

Lister's eyes had sparkled with the warmth and acceptance he had always expected, with the respect he had always sought. But it was Lister who had wanted him—the _original_ him—back again. And for reasons he still couldn't understand, he had complied.

After all, it was always Lister who brought him back to himself. Somehow, despite everything, it was always his opinion that mattered most.


	2. Chapter 2

Lister sat in the drive seat, rubbing firmly at the skin between his eyes. It had been a few weeks since their adventure with the polymorph, and Cat still hadn't forgiven him for encouraging Rimmer to change back. Even Kryten had trouble wrapping his mind around it, though he'd rarely question Lister to his face. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't entirely sure why he had done it either.

He allowed his head to fall back to the headrest, thinking back those weeks ago to a different Rimmer. He had been dazzled by the difference at first, he'd admit. He'd never seen Rimmer—_their_ Rimmer—so confident, capable, and happy before. It made something inside him glow warmly watching the way light danced in his eyes and a genuine smile curved his lips. He'd been a little bit drunk with it, honestly. Those expressions were so foreign to Rimmer's face. They looked good on him, transformed his features. He'd never been so charming either. The new Rimmer knew just what to say to stroke someone's ego and smooth a conflict. He somehow seemed to know just what to do to solve any problem and, smeg, could the man tell a story!

Lister smiled softly at the memory of the two men gathered together over drinks, Rimmer gesticulating expressively as his eyes sparkled with that intoxicating vibrance. Lister snorted quietly as he recalled one of the stories, smile fading slowly from his face as the same thought-provoking notion occurred to him. The polymorph had only taken Rimmer's bitterness, which meant that whatever was left _was_ Rimmer in some way. Beneath his neuroses and trauma was a suave, intelligent, capable, funny man that Lister could really like.

He went back to rubbing the bridge of his nose again, his thoughts giving him a headache.

How could they be so different? And yet… underneath the surface, that _was_ Rimmer. It made Lister wonder if the right sort of push could bring it out of him again. With the right encouragement, could Rimmer harness that energy himself?

His stomach twisted uncomfortably at the path his thoughts were taking, and he let out a heavy sigh, ignoring them. Rimmer was Rimmer again, not the charming, larger-than-life hero he'd been temporarily. In a way, that was good. While he'd enjoyed his time with the new Rimmer, eventually, it just felt… wrong. The two were so different that it was like their Rimmer was just _gone_. Despite everything, Starbug just wasn't Starbug without the old, snarky, bitter, petty-minded Rimmer. He'd missed him, though Lister would never admit it.

He dropped his hand to his thigh and looked around the drive room, his eyes resting on Rimmer's unoccupied seat. If he concentrated, he could almost see the man sitting at his station—prissy and uptight or smooth and confident—as he manned the controls. Lister looked away again with a tight frown, concentrating on his own console.

He still wasn't sure which version he preferred or what his feelings were on the whole ordeal, but he knew that it wasn't right to change the man by force. If Rimmer wanted to become like that other version of him, he could do it naturally. Still…. He had asked for Rimmer to change back, even though he had been happy as Ace, and that must have been for a reason. And, for some reason, Rimmer had listened.

Lister hummed thoughtfully, tapping out an absent staccato on his knee. His mind wandered down the twisting corridors of their odd relationship, wondering if Rimmer was as lost as he was.

It certainly didn't seem like he had all the answers either. Lister saw the other man looking at him in the hallways from time to time with an accusatory, questioning gaze. He didn't have an answer for it—not really. The only thing he could think was that maybe, when it came right down to it….

Rimmer wasn't as replaceable as everyone thought.

* * *

Author's Note: This is another story that can be read as slash or non-slash; the best part is that it could be canon either way ("Blue," anyone?). I'm also pleased with the bit of foreshadowing here for Lister's part in "Stoke Me a Clipper."


End file.
